Hogblasta
by Wingless Rain
Summary: Yo, yo! Yall ain't read nuthin' 'til ya read this one! It's like crack fo' blind kids.
1. Welcome to the ghetto

* * *

Welcome to the ghetto 

-

Station square, two-thousand-twelve, somewhere around the poorer neighborhoods of the famous city.

It's where action follows your every move, where even one false step can lead to lead poisoning. Still, some are just too dumb to realize the truth,

"Yo, yo! Check dis shit out, yo!" the local street punk known as Sonic calls out, like it's second nature to him to act like an idiot. Two seconds later, he's on a wheeled piece of wood, popularly referred to as as 'skateboard,' and desperately tries to pull off a simple ollie. "Watch this shit, nigga, watch it!"

It takes about four seconds for him to get into the air, spin the board around like a whirlwind, then it impacts with his crotch. A second after that, he's on the ground, in a sad pile of limbs, oversized clothes, and fake jewelry.

This miserable wretch is known as Sonic the Hedgehog, and his tag is a fat, black, cock. Of course, his real name is neither Sonic nor Hedgehog, but that's what the people on the street call him - occasionally.  
Of all wannabe gangsters, Sonic is, by far, the most worthless.

"Fucka!" his only true friend, Tails, calls out from his vantage point above a vandalized statue that could, potentially, be a dog. "Yo aint down wid da klown, cracka! Ya feet's slippery as soap, yo!"

The blue one's head twists around a few times, and he successfully fights the raging pain stemming from his wounded crotch.  
"Fuck!" he shouts, but remains down. "Yo! I be better than dis, yo! It was a fluke! A one-time thing, yall!"

"Shit," Tails mumbles. He shakes his head a few times, and the amount of bling he's got mounted around his neck combine their noise levels and end up sounding like a massive church-bell. "Shit, das all. Stupid wigga can't even bounce like us! Ya be proof o dat, yall!"

Sonic grinds his teeth quite loudly.  
"I'll cap ya, bitch," he whispers. "As soon as ah find mah butterfly, yall be dead! Deader than dead! Supa-dead!"

Tails whistles.  
"Cracka! Yo can't cap someone wid a knife, ya ear?"

-

Cut from the wastes of flesh known as Sonic and Tails, to someone slightly better.

"Aight," he's the biggest and baddest nigger in the ghetto, "bitch," he's the most successful pimp-master ever to exist, "behave yaself dis time, aight?" His name's Knuckles, and he likes knockin' games. His friends call him Emerald king, his close friends call him Da bloat throwa. A very, very, very select few individuals also call him Independent flower, but that's another story. Or so we shall pretend.

Well, not really.

He's always claimed to have been born by himself, that his spikes go through boulders, that he always gives people da coldest shoulda, and that he dun need a posse to get on, and, last but not least, that all adversaries get shelves.  
Yo.

However, Knuckles isn't alone.  
Joined to his left wrist, by a leather leash, is someone decked out in a gimp costume, complete with a spiked collar, ass-mounted zipper, and what appears to be scars and stains collected over several hard, sweaty, long, masculine, years.

It's his club, his crib.  
'Flaring assholes.'

In-between slapping his man-servant, aptly titled Shadow, around, he found the time to 'chat' with one of his guests; a large, round, gentleman, with a gigantic red nose, and a moustache that can kill. 'Eggman'  
"Yo, yo! Bro, wazzzza?" the king of the thing cries to the heavens, while Shadow can do little but sit on his ass and stare at the men in action. Wild gesticulation ensues.

"Nuffin much, jus' chillin," Eggman snaps back. He appears to be scanning the immediate surroundings for something. "Daymn," he finally blurts out, both hands extended towards the floor, "where da hoe used ta hang with yall, nigga?"

Knuckles is none to pleased with the query, for some idiotic reason.  
"She be gone, whitey," he throws his right hand out towards Eggman, fingers spread. A golden knife, with a fat diamond socketed into the hilt, at rest in his palm. "Now stop trippin - ya dun wanna be capped, do ya?"

"Yo, chill, chill, man!" he backs away hastily, arms flailing all over the place. "Gotz a sec, yo?"

The echidna considers things, now that he's sure the fat man meant no harm.  
"For ya, always," he winks, then snaps the fingers on his left hand. A female bat, dressed only in a blue thong, calmly walks over to his right. Her tits are huge, enormous - the kind of thing your momma warned ya about, nigga. "Shit!" his right arm slides across her shoulders, then brings her in real close to him. "This be Rouge, my main hoe! She da best! She be pure blood bat - very horny, very wet. Tits like ya won't believe, a mouth dat won't quit, and an ass that ya gotta taste to believe. Man, she'll get yo cock so hard it'll explode, dawg!"

"Aight," the fat man reaches into his pockets and pulls out a wad of bills fatter than he is. "We gonna be down wid da klown, if ya know what ah mean, nigga."

-

VT2 - 2006  
King hadbar/Sean Catlett - 2006  
Heaven of Noir - 2006


	2. Might is right, but tight, yo

* * *

Might is right, but tight, yo 

-

Somewhere around one pm, inside an abandoned warehouse.

"Aight, nigga," Sonic calls out. He's on his board again, and on top of the tallest ramp known to humanity, "check diz shit out, yo. Ahma perform something o' mah own devizing!"

Meanwhile, Tails busies himself chewing on a piece of gum. This, of course, marks him as a fag.  
A nigger fag.  
"Yall only gonna smack on yo ass, nigga!" his bling resonates each time his mouth closes. "Like ya always do."

Sonic pays him no mind. Short moment of stretching, some sighing.  
"Aight," people stream into the warehouse from all directions, and for no real reason. Other than the obvious promise of dead hedgehog, of course, "aight. Aight, niggas," he looks a bit shaken, "aight."

"Stop 'aighting,' fucking wigga!" Knuckles, who's magically teleported himself out of 'Flaring assholes,' shouts for dear life. He's also playing with his dead-expensive knife, and starting at his slave. "Fuck! Get on wid it, yo!"

Out of all these people, only one's human. He's deadly, sharp, surrounded by a vast number of hoes and gangstas, and clothed in the finest of the finest threads. He's Bob, the aryan chocolate warrior, but everyone calls him Long dong obsidian.  
Because he's the biggest nigger of them all.

"Shit," Tails mumbles. "White men can't jump, so dun be expectin' a show, cracka."

It's all in the mind, Sonic tells himself, then swallows quite hard.

"Yo! Doncha be a playa hata!" he tilts his head to the left and spits a massive glob of saliva. It strikes home on Tails' head. "Ahma prove yall wrong, yall!"

Mission: to survive, while entertaining the crowd.  
Primary goals: survival.  
Secondary goals: survival.

Some Millencolin plays in the background, and all the sistas and brothas cheer as Sonic get ready.  
Basically, it's just another skater doing what all other skaters do.

"Shit!" Sonic cries as he slides down the ramp, towards, obviously, a world of broken limbs, ruptured organs, and skulls fractures.

Because he's the worst poser of all times, he somehow ends up grinding his board along the ramp, reaches the top of the other side, spins around wildly in the air, then goes straight for the ground.  
A second after he's performed the fattest and most spectacular face-plant ever recorded, his board comes down, sharp end first, and hits him in the back of his head like a dart. About an inch of the wood pierces his head, and it stays rigid and standing, much like a jungle cock.

Sonic doesn't move, at all.

-

In another part of town, the Pope is busy delivering Bible blitz to all heathens from atop an ancient M-thirty-four tank.  
At the frontlines, Zero, known as Robotic crotch-Alpha, busies himself carving brotha niggas up by the dozen with his trusted lightsa-Z saber.  
"Why ya gotta trippin?" the Pope is angry, because someone ruined the prospect of a perfect evening spent freebasing with Snoop dawg, Vdogg, and several other dogs best not named, or even mentioned. "Ah wasn't in it fo ya, ya know? Fuckas! Cracka, hoes, all yall gotta die!"

"Yo!" someone who's just lost an arm to Zero's sword calls out, then shoves a fat revolver into the robot's face. It's made of gold. "Nigga, my baby aint yo baby!"

-

The crowd has dispersed, finally, and Sonic has somehow managed to recover.

Tails touches him in all the wrong places, but Sonic doesn't seem to realize just what's happening around him.  
"Ya, das how I crushed da ocean, dawg!" his left arm's in a cast, but the right one's working just fine, and signing a withered parchment, which belongs to Bob. "Dun fuck wid da man! Eet neva pays, yall!"

Bob nods, but says nothing.  
Knuckles watches them from a safe distance, Shadow ever at his left side.

"Yo!" the hedgehog hands both the parchment and his pen to Bob, who seems very pleased. "Ahma star now, aight?"

Bob flashes him a thumbs up.

-

VT2 - 2006


	3. Black wings of ebony pride

The legendary legend of cap-busta-nigga supreme and the pure kickassery of the legendary Udamanrecords, yo.

-

Sonic walks up in the session with his dick in his hand. Fat sweet in his mouth. 24 oz can.  
His eyes are tight and shiny 'cause he's smoking some kill. Don't look at him, go buy some drinks, call up some hoes if you will.

"Welcome to Burger Lord. May I take your order?"

"Aight nigga"

"Uh. I'm not black."

"Fo sho."

"Neither are you."

"You wanna get capped nigga? Yall best be cookin me up sum chicken and wattamelun. Coanbred. Uh. Did I say fried chicken? Aw yeh, nigga. Chicken. Fried. Golden, like deez chainz, yall ear? On da real. Yo."

"I didn't understand a word you just said."

"Yall best be gettin' my order ready, yall ear? Dey dont call me cap-busta-nigga supreme fo nuthin! Yo."

"What? All I ever hear them call you is fag."

"Aight nigga, u best be gittin on wit dat shit, yall 'ear?"

This is when the enraged hedgehog brandished his knife, ready to cap this white devil so hard that.. something happens. The frightened clerk is faced with a dilemma. This wannabe nigger wants food, and he wants it fast. His stomach speaks louder than his brain, but dis nigga be all heart, yo. Even the simple Burger Lord counter attendant could see it. The pathetic whatever the fuck he was, because description is unnecessary and stupid, had to ask himself; what do niggers eat? And the answer is simple, my ignorant white friend. Chicken. Watermelon. Take your pick between Root Beer or Dr. Pepper, because niggers can't tell the difference. And no nigga is complete without his daily helping of corn bread. The tragedy is that Burger Lord doesn't sell cornbread.

The unimaginative character behind the counter leans into his microphone and speaks.  
"I need an order of salvatoin wings with extra godsauce, root wine, and a side order of walk-on-water-into-wine-melon. What size did you want?"

"Nigga size. Yo."

"What? We have man-size for kids, which comes with a Jesus action figure to light the way for an extra twelve-fifty, the Jesus size for men, and god's guided grande value deal."

"Ah sed nigga, yo! Dont b bringin us down, yall ear?!"

"Uh. Make that god's guided grande-"

"S-dizzle da H-chizzle!! M-dawg! Ova here, yo!"

The feminine voice of Tails the fag echoes throughout the porpus crowded fast food 'resturaunt'

"Wut wut?"

"Yall better b cummin' kwick, dawg! Shadow b sayin not only u cant flo, but dat u aint hard, nigga!"

"Wut WUT?!"

"Yuh! He sed u wasnt hard, and dat u couldnt flow"

"Naw, nigga. Naw. Naw, nigga. Naw."

"Yeh, nigga. Yeh."

So, after Sonic recieved his salvation wings, and ate them, he was off to prove to Shadow that he was the hardest nigger on the east, west, and east side, nigger. On the real.

-

A giant conglomeration of Mobians in baggy pants, fake jewelry, and your general assortment nigger gear. They all whoop and holler in unison, something about backing that ass up or how it's getting hot. In her. (fo sho)

Long dong obsidian stands tall amongst the lesser niggers of the streets, right next to his one and true home-dawg, the one true pimpmasta JDawg, Jesus Christ.

BOOM BOOM BOOM.

Suddenly there is the sound of plastic wheels grinding awkwardly against paved gravel. Heads turn, crowds part and bitches gasp. Attention is directed towards S-dizzle the H-chizzle as he rolls in on a skateboard tricked out with rims that spin and a sound system with some serious bass. SERIOUS bass. The skateboard stops, as Sonic kicks it up in attempt to look even more badass in nature. Somehow, by pure luck, he pulls it off. Catching the nose of the board with his left hand, everyone stares in astonishment as the rims on the skateboard are STILL spinning.

"Wher dat nigga Shadow b hidin?"

BOOM BOOM BOOM

"Ah aint be hidin, busta"

"Wut wut?"

And more serious bass accompanies the badass introduction of this true ebony warrior.

"Nigga, yall eard me. Wut yall doin on mai turf, dawg? U's a front, busta. Yall aint no brotha, nigga, yall ear?"

"OOOOH!!" the crowd shouts.  
Whoops and hollers erupt from the unruly black mob. Incoherent monkey noise.

"Naw, nigga. Naw. Naw, nigga. Naw. Naw, nigga. Naw. I'm black as night, yo! U da front, dawg"

"OOOOOHHH!!"

"Naw, nigga. Ahma so black, ah cood steal the rims off a doolee, wyl da owner b sittin on his powrch. Powrch lyt own, nigga! Wut!"

"OOOOOHHHHH!""

"But he got da powrch lyt own!" screams Tails, in his womanly voice. He is disregarded, because he is a fag. Rightfully so.  
Sonic uses his pure wannabe niggerdom to come back in a way that only a true wannabe nigger could.

"Naw, nigga. Ahma so black dat fool wood gimme his rims. If dat ho cood see me, fo sho."

"OOOOOOOHHHHHH!!"

Naw, nigga. Ahma so black, when we stand nex ta eachuvva, ah mayk u look lyk Micheal Jackson, nigga."

"OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH!!"

"Naw, nigga. Naw. Ahma so black mai assho' taste lyk fried chicken, nigga. Fo sho."

"Nigga, u aint black. U cant even flo, fool."

"Nigga, ah can flo. Nigga ah can flo hard."

"U aint hard, nigga. U aint hard."

"Ahma so hard, nigga, ah flow harder than Amy Rose, any day udda month, foo."

"Y dont u put ur bling wher ur mouf is?"

"Wut wut?! U tryin to say sumthin bout mai grill, nigga?"

"Yuh."

"Naw, nigga. Naw. U aint gettin dis grill."

"If u kin flo, wut u skeered bout loosin it fo?"

"Ah aint skeered, mofo. Ah b showin u how ta flo, u cracka. An ahmma be takin dat chain, yall ear? Dat S chain wit da diamonds and plat."

"Aight, aight. Yall aint b takin shit, nigga. Naw."

BOOM BOOM BOOM

Suddenly the bass is back. Sonic has da microphone, and he b showin us wher it's at. Fo sho, do.

"yo, yo! mo-fo! ahma b-balling an summa-skating like ah cruel pro, touchin mah balls all ova da floor, grindin' da asphalt like Notorious B.I.G on roll, foo! now yall take grand liberties makin the sonic rap bust out like a nine millimeta death slug of whitey-capping justice, yo"

Shadow steps up with the enthusiasm of a real ghetto nigger. A ghetto nigger with jungleballs. Kind of.

"U cant match mai black, u cant match mai bling, u comin' round here talkin' shit, but u aint nothing, ah b tha blackes nigga wit all da cash, u try and match my flo, u gonna crash"

"mah buddies, we be jammin' like run DMC, stealin' ya crack right out o yo hands, dawg, ya aint neva seen it coming. blind fucka, we be too rich ta buy wid yo hoes an grills - we'z too rich to own up in da hood

"cuz ahma nigga so badass and so black, if yo jaw aint droppin, u trippin on crack, u b trippin dawg, if u think ahma front, cuz I b drinkin on a 40, and smokin a blunt"

"we be lyin' in oua beds on satu'day nights, sweatin buckets an ees not even hawt, we dun know where ta go, but we put da pedal to da metal, and we be ready ta rowl, nigga, nigga, you an me be we going nowhere slowly, but we gotta get away from da past, 'cause deres nuthin wrong with going nowhere, brotha, but we be sure we gotta go nowhere fast, yo!"

"OOOOOHHHHHHHHHH!!"

And with the shame of a thousand niggers who took back their land from white people before stealing their farming methods, Shadow has somehow been defeated. He is rushed by the unruly mob of incomprehensable apes as they proceed to steal his watch, his grill, his rings, his diamond earings, his plat, and his shoes. Suddenly the crowd parts and yay; it is Jesus, in all of his black glory. In his hand he holds the fake S chain he stole from the neck of the beaten ebony hedgehog.

He extends the bling-bling to S-dizzle da H-chizzle with a hint of god's glory.

"Yall ernded dis, yall ear?"

"Word"

"Ah gotsa special offa fo u, fo sho. Yall b cruisin in da Saintmobile wit me and mai nigga long dong obsidian, and we b goin straight ta Udaman records to meet da one, da only VDOGG!"

Monkey-like whooping ensues. Vdogg is a really big nigger, with flo dat cuts deep when he sings wit his nigga da burrrd. He ride wit da furry crew, yall ear? Cuz dat's wut u awtta do.

Fo sho.

So da gang jumped into da pinto-... Saintmobile, and dey journeyed to da far east fo sho, to ride wit da furry crew.

* * *

cornwallace/PDC AF niggakilla pimpbusta/SBAC - 2008  
The king of all niggers/Niggerlips/The ebony overlord/VT2 - 2008


End file.
